


And Once Upon a Song

by missmichellebelle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - High School Musical, First Love, First Relationship, Fluff, High School Dynamics, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Singing, ice hockey, musical numbers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10494444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: A popular high school ice hockey star and a shy, academically gifted transfer student discover they share a secret passion for singing. When they end up accidentally auditioning for the lead roles in the school musical, it threatens East High's rigid social order and sends their peers into an uproar.What team? Wildcats! Get your head in the game!





	1. the start of something new

**Author's Note:**

> did I take that summary straight from the Disney channel website? why yes, yes I did.
> 
> welcome to HSM AU hell, ladies and gentlemen~ <3
> 
> songs this chapter:  
> [start of something new](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6EOUaWscrE)

“Figures I’d find you here.”

It’s the only warning Yuuri gets before there’s a sudden push on the back of his head, nearly bringing him nose-to-paper with his chemistry textbook.

“M-Mari!” He splutters, turning to look at her, and she smiles at him, wryly.

“It’s New Year’s Eve, little brother, and you’re hiding up here doing homework,” she teases.

Yuuri almost reminds Mari that it isn’t possible for him to be doing homework—in a week, he’ll be at a completely new school, and even if he’d thought to ask, his parents probably weren’t going to call ahead for his assignments. But it’s easier to let her think that than to explain that he’s _preemptively_ studying. He’s no stranger to changing schools, and yet the anxiety of showing up and being leagues behind his peers has never quite left him.

Better to be over-prepared than face abject humiliation.

(Better to be the freaky genius kid than the awkward transfer student.)

“Why aren’t you at the party with Mom and Dad?” He asks, using the brief break to clean his glasses with the hem of his sweatshirt, and Mari folds her arms over the back of the chair, humming contemplatively.

“They gave me chaperone duty.” There’s a twitch to her fingers, a telltale sign that she’s longing for a cigarette, but she knows better than to smoke within the guest areas of the hotel. “Not for you,” she elaborates when Yuuri’s face twists into something indignant. “For the teen party in the eighth floor ballroom. One last leg of grunt work.”

And then the Katsuki Hollywood will be all hers. He knows the announcement will be dropping in a few days, the answer to a question that’s been up for serious debate since his parents announced that they were off to establish another resort in their ever-growing chain. It’ll go over well, he knows. The board can’t really argue for a better candidate to oversee the crown jewel of the Katsuki empire than the daughter of the founders, who’s been working in one of their hotels since she was 14.

Yuuri tries not to think about it, or the legacy that’s being unwittingly laid upon his shoulders by his parents and older sister.

“So come on.” She pushes off his chair until she’s standing, looking far too comfortable and under-dressed for a New Year’s Eve party in her sweater-and-jeans. “Come keep me company.”

Yuuri is suddenly very suspicious of the fact that his parents made Mari chaperone the teen party.

“But…” He gestures weakly to his chemistry textbook, to his mostly full page of notes.

“But nothing, little bro. Mom and Dad are taking you halfway across the country in a few days, you can spend a few hours with me.”

He winces, suddenly feeling guilty. It’s not like he doesn’t _know_ that Mari isn’t coming with them this next time, but it doesn’t quite feel real. Mari’s always been there, sharing in the inevitable upheaval of another school change and the weak promises of almost-friends who never call or write. He drops his head, sighing, before giving her a weak smile.

“Okay, okay… But I’m bringing my textbook.”

She laughs, and Yuuri tries not to think about how much he’ll miss her.

“You’re such a nerd,” she says, voice round with affection, and Yuuri’s smile is a little more genuine. “Now get dressed. I was supposed to be down there an hour ago.”

*

They’ll kick him off the ice soon. There’s only so many times he can bat his eyelashes and give his most charming smile to the 20-something who has to lock up the rink for the night. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all, and Victor knows that his looks will only buy him so much time.

Still—he’ll take whatever time he can get.

It’s nice to have the rink to himself, giving him room to pick up speed as he traces the perimeter of the ice before making the way to the center and dropping to his knees for spins. Not for the first time since his mama put him on an airplane two weeks ago, he regrets not bringing any of his gear. No sticks, no pucks, no pads. He knows he’s lucky he snuck his skates.

(He knows how unhappy Mama was when she found out.)

Victor bends his knees in a squat, gliding across the ice until he’s almost to the boards—then he spins on his knees, and heads in the opposite direction. He might not be able to do any drills, but at least he can work on his speed and his balance.

“Vitya!”

His face cracks in a smile, and he draws himself to a stop, right in his mama’s eye line. She looks lovely, draped in gold and sparkling even in the ice arena’s fluorescent lights, and his smile grows bigger.

“Mama, you look beautiful,” he says as he skates over to the boards, and she meets him, fondly resigned.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here?” She sighs, shaking her head, cupping his cold cheek with her warm hand. “We came to California to get away from the cold, _snezhinka moya_.” She’s still smiling, but her voice is sterner. “Or did we come all this way so you could play more hockey?”

He’s been to this rink nearly every day since they came to Los Angeles. The staff knows him, even. It would make him feel bad that he doesn’t remember a single one of their names, except that they’re leaving tomorrow and he has no reason to commit any of them to memory. His frequent visits might even be why they let him get away with staying so late, but he’s not dumb enough to know that his looks don’t play at least some part in it.

“I can’t really play hockey without a stick, Mama,” he says around a grin, and she raises one delicate eyebrow at him before giving him a tight smile.

“Come. It’s cold.” She beckons with her hand, and he hesitates, chewing his lip.

“Give me just a bit longer?” He tries, making his eyes as wide and innocent as possible. “We have the championship game when we get back, and Yakov—”

“Isn’t here,” she points out. “It’s our last night of vacation, Vitya. Once we get home, you can spend all your free time practicing again. But for now, come.” She waves him closer. “They have a kids party back at the hotel. Go. Have fun. Spend time with people.” His mama is not the pleading sort, but he hears a strain of it now, one that takes the fight out of his shoulders.

“Kids party?” He teases lightly, cocking his head to the side, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“ _Young adult_ ,” she clarifies. “Now hurry, you need to shower and change.”

“One more lap around the rink?” He asks, hopefully, and the frustrated furrow between her eyebrows turns soft. She gives a reluctant nod, but she nods, nonetheless.

“Show me something beautiful,” she requests, folding her arms around herself, and Victor flashes her a smile before setting off.

*

Whoever was in charge of decorating the eighth floor ballroom (or the _Magenta Ballroom_ , as it was formally known) certainly didn’t do anything by halves. The entire ceiling is strung with white twinkly lights, dipping in dramatic arches over the glass windows that run floor to ceiling and lead out onto a veranda. Between the refreshment tables laden with chocolate fountains and sparkling ciders are plush chairs and couches, and every space that isn’t occupied by a person has a ballon bouquet in a myriad of golds and silvers. In the dead center of the room is a raised platform, upon which two overzealous teens are singing karaoke. Yuuri feels an onset of secondhand embarrassment, and quickly makes for an unoccupied chair in the corner, hoping to pass the evening reading his textbook and avoiding attention.

He’d lost Mari almost immediately upon entering the ballroom, but Yuuri can see her now, trying her best to encourage another set of people up onto the stage for a duet. He wonders how much champagne she’s had since they walked through the doors—if she’s anything like their father, certainly enough, especially since the smile on her face doesn’t _look_ forced.

Good. She should have a good time. And not worry about her antisocial brother who’d rather ring in his New Year with the periodic table of elements than people his own age.

Unfortunately, the other people are making that feat increasingly difficult.

It’s not even midnight yet, but the crowds are… _Rowdy_. There are noise makers going off every few seconds, and poppers are spraying confetti into the air prematurely. Mari has successfully corralled two girls up onto the stage to sing an enthusiastic rendition of a song that Yuuri has never heard of. 

Okay, he can do this.

He can concentrate.

He can study anywhere, and now is no different.

_In a synthesis reaction, also known as a composition reaction, two or more substances combine to form a new compound. This type of reaction is represented by the following general equation…_

One of the girls singing hits a note that can only be described as nothing short of _unnatural_ , and Yuuri smacks himself lightly in the forehead with his textbook. Okay. Okay. He’s been here… 15 minutes? Maybe? That should be enough. Mari isn’t even paying attention to him. She absolutely won’t notice if he leaves.

With a sigh, Yuuri lowers his book—and immediately makes awkward eye contact with a stranger across the room. A stranger with alarmingly remarkable blue eyes, who isn’t looking away, and Yuuri isn’t looking away, and _oh god_ , awkward eye contact has turned into _awkward staring_ —

The song ends, abruptly, and the smattering of applause is enough to shake Yuuri out of the moment.

Okay, that… _Happened_. He just needs to leave now, before anything else too eventful happens. He’ll finish reading this chapter, do the review questions, and go to bed. He’s never been one for ringing in the new year, anyway.

He stands up quickly, shutting his book and beginning a furtive exit through the crowd.

“Thank you ladies so much for volunteering!” His sister’s voice rings out, and Yuuri has _got_ to get out of here before anyone else lacking pitch is handed a microphone. “Is there anyone else willing to provide some entertainment tonight?”

Suddenly there’s a hand around his arm, jerking him to a standstill, and when Yuuri turns, Mari is standing there, smiling at him and holding out a microphone. The look on her face might seem warm and friendly to everyone else, but to Yuuri, it’s almost shark-like.

_Where do you think you’re going?_ it seems to say.

“Thanks for volunteering.” It turns even more dangerous, and then she’s trading Yuuri’s textbook for a microphone and shoving him onto the stage.

At the same time, someone else is loudly protesting, “I don’t sing, I _can’t_ sing,” and when Yuuri finally stumbles onto the stage (with another shove from Mari), he finds himself face to face with that _same_ stranger.

_Really?_

“Mari,” Yuuri hisses, looking behind him, but his sister just grins, shrugging her shoulders before hopping onstage behind him.

“The screen with the lyrics is right there.” She points upwards, and Yuuri blinks. He hadn’t even seen that there, before. He feels Mari’s hand curl over his shoulder, and glances at her. She’s still smiling, but it doesn’t look nearly as predatory as it had moments ago. “Don’t look so nervous.” Yuuri swallows. “One day, you might even thank me for this.”

He highly, _highly_ doubts it.

*

“Good luck,” the hostess says to Victor, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder before jumping down from the stage. He considers protesting again, because _seriously_ , he doesn’t sing. Not that the last two batches of performers could, either, but Victor genuinely needs a reason to humiliate himself like this. Like his friends hollering their support from the crowd around him, an affirmation that he’s got nothing to lose.

And then Victor looks at the other poor soul pulled up on stage with him and thinks, _oh_.

That’s a reason.

His clothes are slightly ill-fitting, and he looks like standing there, holding a microphone on a stage in a crowded ballroom is the absolute _last_ place in the world he wants to be. But his dark hair falls attractively across his defined features, his large glasses endearingly dorky and smart.

Three things occur to Victor as the music starts.

  1. This is the boy he made eye contact with, who had been reading a chemistry textbook in a corner all alone.
  2. He has never heard this song before.
  3. There is no way this boy is going to sing it with him.



But what’s life without a little risk taking? There’s a reason he plays center, after all.

     “ _Living in my own world._ ” 

Wow, Victor should have maybe warmed up his voice a little bit first.

     “ _Didn’t understand._ ”

The boy beside him is shooting him a surprised glance—why? Because of his voice, or because he’s actually trying? He clears his throat.

     “ _That anything can happen._ ”

It’s a duet, but Victor is pretty sure he could carry the whole thing on his own.

     “ _When you take a chance._ ”

It would certainly be entertaining, and would more than likely make him some friends somewhere in the crowd.

He swallows and prepares for the other boy to run off the stage, to sing his part, but when he goes to open his mouth, he hears a voice that isn’t his.

     “ **I never believed in what I couldn’t see.** ”

Victor can’t help the way his mouth falls open as he stares at this boy, arms wrapped around himself in a way that screams discomfort and low confidence, who can _sing_.

     “ **I never opened my heart—** ”

     “ _Oh._ ” 

Victor’s so caught up in staring, he almost misses the cue, and is thankful that he doesn’t when a pair of bright, brown eyes is suddenly focused on him.

     “ **—to all the possibilities, ooh.** ” 

The boy shuffles, angling his body slightly away, and Victor feels something spark inside of him. He wants this boy to look at him. He wants him to unfurl, to have fun, to _smile_.Anyway he can make it happen.

     “ ** _I know—_** ” 

Their voices blend together remarkably well, and Victor is almost caught off-guard by the beauty of it, amazed not only by his partner’s apparent innate ability to harmonize but by the strength and sound of his own voice, as well. He didn’t know he was capable of this.

     “ **That something has changed.** ”

The boy glances at him again, surprise apparent in the rise of his eyebrows, and all Victor can think is, _good_. He wants to keep surprising him, over and over again.

     “ ** _Never felt this way._** ”

Victor might not know this song, but he has this creeping feeling.

     “ **And right here tonight.** ”

That this duet is a love song.

     “ ** _This could be the start of something new._** ”

     “ **It feels so right.** ”

The boy glances at him shyly, the smallest of smiles starting to play on his lips.

     “ ** _To be here with you._** ”

The weird thing is that it _does_. Victor is not a singer. He is a natural born performer—on the ice, in the arena he’s known since he was six. There is nothing about all of this that should feel natural, or normal, and yet…

     “ ** _And now looking in your eyes—_** ”

As if realizing that he was, in fact, staring right in Victor’s eyes, the boy glances away again, but he’s still smiling. Victor wonders if he’s thinking and feeling the same things he is.

     “ **I feel in my heart.** ”

     “ _Feel in my heart._ ”

     “ **The start of something new.** ”

*

What is he doing? What is he doing? _What is he doing?_

Yuuri is on a stage, singing with the most beautiful boy he’s ever been blessed enough to _breathe near_ , and is… Only kind of freaking out. There is definitely some latent freaking out, but his nerves seem flimsy under the strength of his partner’s encouraging smile.

Yuuri actually almost honest-to-god _laughs_ when the guy slips out of his expensive looking jacket and tosses it dramatically into the crowd.

     “ _Now who’d have ever thought that, ooh._ ”

He keeps trying to school his smile, trying to not look so obviously enamored, but he can’t seem to help it.

     “ ** _We’d both be here tonight._** ”

There is a crowd around them, cheering them on, and Yuuri is waiting and waiting and waiting for the stage fright to creep up on him. To seize his throat and make the words die, to leave him breathing harshly into a microphone as the music plays on. But then he’s glancing to the side, where the boy with the blue eyes is starting to dance with his microphone stand, and finds a strange fluttering in his stomach instead.

It’s almost like… Anticipation. Or excitement.

     “ **Oh yeah, the world looks so much brighter.** ”

     “ _Brighter, brighter…_ ”

     “ **Oh, with you by my side.** ”

     “ _By my side._ ”

Then again, it’s hard to concentrate on where he is, and what he’s doing, when he’s so preoccupied by the person standing next to him—who is starting to dance. And, well, Yuuri stops fighting the magnetism he feels. Doesn’t force his eyes away, doesn’t try to hide his smile.

     “ ** _I know—_** ”

He can feel the music in his bones, and he starts to rock his shoulders back and forth, drawing an ecstatic look onto the boy’s face.

It’s intoxicating.

     “ ** _That something has changed._** ”

The boy pulls his microphone free from the stand, and Yuuri turns his body towards him. He might be on a stage, but Yuuri knows who he’s really performing for.

     “ ** _Never felt this way._** ”

For the boy, who cheeses it up by pressing a hand to his heart in literal translation of the lyrics they’re singing.

     “ **Oh, I know it for real.** ”

And for himself.

     “ ** _This could be the start…_** ”

*

The longer they sing, the more the shy boy beside him opens up, blossoms. He seems to flourish under Victor’s attention, his smile bigger and his confidence becoming radiant until he’s nearly unrecognizable.

Even if he still shies away from Victor’s, admittedly, over enthusiastic arm gesture dancing, and looks surprised when he moves closer across the stage. The crowd is clapping along now—someone in the back cheers—and he wonders if they are actually putting on a decent show.

He’d stopped thinking about it—what these people saw, what they thought of him—the second the boy beside him started to sing.

     “ _I never knew that it could happen till it happened to me—oooh, yeah._ ”

If his mirror back home is any indication, he makes absolutely ridiculous faces when he sings, but he hams it up some more, anyway, until his partner nearly misses the next line from pressing a laugh into the back of his hand.

     “ ** _I didn’t know it before._** ”

     “ **But now it’s easy to see!** ”

God, this boy can _sing_. What was he doing, sitting in a corner, doing _homework?_ Don’t those stupid reality talent shows exist for people like this?

They belt the next note together, and Victor’s smile feels large on his face—large, and awful, and absolutely genuine, and he can’t even care.

     “ ** _It’s the start of something new. It feels so right to be here with you._** ”

Victor leaves his microphone stand behind, further intent on closing the gap between him and the radiant spark of a person who is, honestly, putting Victor’s own dance skills to shame with just the sway of his hips. It’s like gravity, or something, pulling them closer.

     “ ** _And now, looking in your eyes._** ”

Victor can hardly look anywhere else at this point.

     “ ** _I feel in my heart._** ”

They’re both holding their microphones at this point, and Victor purposefully moves the second stand out of the way. It’s been the other boy’s shield from him for the entirety of the performance, but now—now Victor could reach out and finally catch him.

     “ ** _That it’s the start of something new._** ”

He takes a step forward, and the boy takes a step back—and right off the stage. Victor’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, and he scrambles forward to help, but he hostess from earlier is there, pushing him right back up onto the stage so that he’s stumbling right into Victor.

     “ ** _It feels so right._** ” 

They both sound a bit more breathless.

     “ _So right._ ” 

Victor still has a hold of his arm and has no intention of letting go.

     “ **To be here with you.** ”

He settles into the touch, letting Victor keep his hold, and they stay that way as the song winds down.

     “ **The start of something new.** ” 

His voice quiets, softens, curling around the impending finish of the song, and Victor can see the blush of color on his cheeks this close.

     “ _The start of something new._ ”

     “ **The start of—** ”

     “ ** _–something new._** ”

The music fades, and all Victor can think about is kissing this boy who’s name he doesn’t even know.

For a second, it looks like the boy might even let him.

And then applause is springing to life around them, cutting through the tension of the moment in a wave of sound, and Victor puts on his show-stopping smile and waves to the people around them. In the corner of his eye, the boy shrinks back into himself, his smile small and tense and already Victor wants to replace that look with the one that had enamored him while they sang together.

He’s thankful that he hasn’t thought to release his grip on the other boy’s wrist just yet, suddenly certain that he would lose him in the crowd and therefore forever. Victor pulls him slightly closer, the sound of the hostess already working on finding her next victims in the chaos of noise around them, and delights in the look of shock that lights up the boy’s face.

“I’m Victor,” he says into his ear, probably far too loudly, and when he pulls back all he can see is wide brown eyes and bright blue glasses and feels a tug in his chest.

“Y-Yuuri.”

*

Yuuri isn’t quite sure how he got here and, frankly, isn’t fully convinced that what’s happening is even real. There’s a part of him that’s sure he actually did escape the party and make his way back to his room and promptly fell asleep becoming familiar with the different types of chemical reactions.

No singing. No dancing. No Victor.

And certainly no Victor sticking to his side for the remainder of the party, leading them out onto the mostly unoccupied terrace so they can talk someplace more quiet.

He’s a figment of Yuuri’s imagination—a dream crafted around an elongated moment of eye contact. It’s the only thing to explain… Well, _everything_.

Even if Victor’s hand resting on top of his own feels so very, very real.

“Are you sure you aren’t some secret celebrity?” Victor wheedles for what has to be the third time in two hours. _Two hours_. Yuuri can’t even believe he’s been at the party that long. Mari probably would have been happy if he’d lasted 45 minutes amongst all the people and the noise.

But it’s quieter, out on the balcony, the music and excitement spilling through the doors muted by the night around them. They’re eight stories up, but even that doesn’t completely separate them from the constant din of Los Angeles traffic, and yet Yuuri can’t find himself to mind. Sitting there with Victor, everything feels oddly out of sync, like they’re in some sort of bubble that separates them from everything else.

Yuuri doesn’t blush this time, just huffs a laugh and shakes his head, casting his eyes out at the cityscape around them.

“So if I type your name into YouTube, I won’t get anything?”

Yuuri turns back to him, eyes wide, an immediate protest on his lips, and Victor looks like the cat that caught the canary.

“Oh-ho, so there is something?”

_Dammit_.

“I—” Yuuri balls the hem of his sweater in his hands, shifting his shoulders nervously. His comfort around Victor seems to have to do more with exposure than anything else, and perhaps the fact that they shared a joint moment of embarrassment. Nothing bonds two people like mutual humiliation. But Yuuri’s still not used to talking about himself so much, especially with someone he hardly knows.

(Although, that’s not a completely fair assessment, now. He knows that Victor plays center for his ice hockey team, that he’s here with his mom on vacation, that he has a pet poodle named Makkachin, that his mom is Russian and so he is partially fluent. He also knows that Victor is, apparently, _very_ single. It’s a hard fact to digest, which might be why Victor shoehorns it into the conversation every fifteen minutes.)

“I did some drama productions in middle school, back in Seattle.” He chews his lip. “Before my parents relocated here.”

“Do they do that a lot?” Victor tips his head to the side, his expression strangely serious. “Relocate?”

“Mmm.” Yuuri smiles, tight-lipped, giving the barest of nods. “Comes with the territory, I guess.” He can see Victor preparing to ask what they do, and Yuuri feels his chest seize up—he doesn’t want to tell him. He grew up in hotels, a misfit at school for never being at one for very long, a misfit among his family for never expressing interest in their hospitality empire.

Tonight might be a dream, but it could also be real. Either way, he’s leaving California in a few days. If all he ever has with Victor are these two hours, he doesn’t want to be Yuuri Katsuki, son of the Katsuki Hotel Katsukis. He just wants to be… Yuuri.

“We’ve been in LA for two years, which is probably the longest I’ve ever been anywhere,” he barrels on, turning to look up at the sky again. There aren’t any stars, not this deep into the heart of the city, but Yuuri pretends he can see them, anyway. “But we were in Seattle for a year, and I had this… Teacher there, and she, ah… She really pushed me to be in the school performances.” It had been terrifying, at the time, but he looks back on it—and Minako—fondly.

“But I was predominantly in the chorus. I tried to audition for one solo and…” He grimaces, shaking his head.

“That bad?”

“I don’t do well in front of crowds,” Yuuri explains, hesitant, and Victor actually looks surprised.

“You didn’t seem too bad in there,” he points out, jerking his head at the ballroom behind them, and Yuuri gives a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, that was… A fluke?” He blinks, shakes his head, looks at Victor. “I don’t really know…” His sentence hangs in the air, finished and incomplete all at the same time.

_I know it has something to do with you_ , he doesn’t say, _but I don’t understand how_.

“Um.” He snaps his eyes away, focusing on the sky again even as he feels Victor’s eyes on him. “What about you?”

Victor’s shoulder presses against his suddenly.

“What about me?” His voice is lowered, quiet, more intimate, and Yuuri’s breath stutters in his chest.

“The, uh, the singing.” Yuuri presses his eyes closed. “Any embarrassing videos of you on the internet?”

Victor chuckles at that, his hand shifting against Yuuri’s until their fingers are loosely clasped. It’s the most intimate Yuuri has ever been with… Well, anyone. And they’re just _holding hands_.

He keeps waiting for… Something to happen. To wake up from this dream? For his anxiety to come out of hibernation and ruin everything? To come to his senses and start running away as fast as he possibly can because good things don’t happen to him and this is far, far too good of a thing?

His breath rattles out of him excruciatingly slow.

“There are plenty of those,” Victor confirms, almost sounding giddy about it. “None with me singing that I know of, though.” Yuuri glances at him, and he’s tapping his finger to his lips, contemplative. Then, just like that, him and Yuuri are making eye contact again. “Those performances I save for my shower… And devastatingly attractive boys.”

Yuuri looks away again, face hot. Victor has been blatantly flirting with him since before they were even properly introduced, but Yuuri’s still not used to it.

“You sing in your shower with attractive boys?” _Oh god, did he actually just say that?_ Yuuri turns back to make sure he didn’t horribly offend Victor, and happens to be just fast enough to see the complete look of surprise that overtakes Victor’s face—and the wonderful way it scrunches up with laughter a second later.

“You’re wonderful, did you know that?”

No. He didn’t. But he’s glad that Victor thinks so, and that he won’t know Yuuri for long enough to realize how very untrue it is.

“Is that… Something you do a lot?” Yuuri finds himself asking after Victor’s laughter has faded into a hum and his own smile has fallen into contentment. Victor makes an inquisitive noise in the back of his throat, and Yuuri presses his lips together, chewing over the words. “Uh… Sing with devastatingly attractive boys?” His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest and land at their feet.

“No…” Victor’s own voice has gone quiet, and Yuuri looks at him again, his stomach fluttering at the small, warm smile aimed his way. “That’s the first time I’ve ever done it.”

The fluttering blooms, spreading a smile across Yuuri’s own mouth, and he doesn’t look away when he says, “Me too.”

In the ballroom behind them, the crowd has started chanting.

      _10! 9! 8!_

Apparently, it’s nearly midnight.

_7! 6!_

Victor doesn’t look away, and neither does Yuuri, the sound rising up around them again.

      _5! 4!_

Just like Cinderella, the clock is about to strike midnight, and the dream will be over.

      _3! 2!_

Well, if they’re never going to see each other again, what does Yuuri have to lose?

      _1!_

Inside the ballroom, people are cheering, noise makers are going off, balloons are being dropped from the ceiling. Even out on the balcony, paper globes above them are popping, raining glitter onto every surface, and in the distance, towards the coast, fireworks are being launched in the air. From their vantage point on the eighth floor, they could see fireworks in five different directions—if they were looking.

But they aren’t.

Yuuri scrounges together every piece of courage he has in his entire body, leans forward, and presses a chaste kiss to Victor’s cheek.

The look on Victor’s face is so awestruck and breathtaking that Yuuri wants to be the cause behind it again and again and again.

*

_Happy New Year_ , Yuuri is mouthing, the sound os his voice eaten up by the cacophony of celebration around them and Victor’s own heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

He reaches up absentmindedly to touch his cheek where Yuuri’s lips had been moments before, and he feels like his heart dropped all the way to soles of his feet before launching back up into his throat. Is this love? Victor is pretty sure he’s in love.

“Yuuri…” There’s still too much noise, and Yuuri has turned away now, the distant fireworks reflecting beautifully in his dark eyes. He has glitter in his hair, across his cheekbone, and before Victor even registers what he’s doing, he’s holding up his phone and taking a picture.

Yuuri turns to look at him, and Victor takes another. Yuuri starts to smile, into a laugh, and Victor takes what feels like a hundred pictures over the course of a second, just to capture every nuance of his changing expression.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” Yuuri asks, voice incredulous, and Victor grins instead of answering. He wants to keep taking pictures, to capture Yuuri’s blooming blush, or the way he demurely averts his eyes. But Victor’s sure he could fill the entire storage capacity on his phone with pictures and still not be able to capture how beautiful Yuuri looks right in this moment.

Maybe Yuuri had been to shy to do anything more than kiss Victor on the cheek, but Victor isn’t shy at all.

He goes to pull Yuuri closer by their still joined hands, when suddenly Yuuri’s fingers are slipping free, his eyes flicking to the room behind them suddenly, face drawn.

“I—” He glances at Victor again, expression torn. “I have to go.”

Victor hadn’t even realized how much he’d been slouching into Yuuri until he’s suddenly sitting up straight.

“You have to _go?_ ” There’s no way he heard that right. It’s still loud. Maybe Yuuri had said… Something else. Anything else.

Victor’s not sure what, but there’s no way he said—

“I have to go.” It looks like the last thing Yuuri wants to say. “My parents…” His eyes flick to the ballroom again, and it’s like some spell is broken. Yuuri’s parents. Victor’s mom. Even with the adult party downstairs, she’ll be looking for him soon.

“Here.” Victor thrusts out his phone clumsily, and Yuuri takes it, a question mark etched between his eyebrows. “Phone numbers, let’s… Exchange phone numbers.”

Yuuri blinks, expression brightening slightly.

“Yeah.” He sounds out of a breath. “Okay.”

He pulls out his own phone and hands it to Victor, and it’s quick work from there.

“Here.” Yuuri grabs his phone back from Victor as soon as he seems to be done with it, balancingboth phones for a moment as he holds his own up. “Now I get a picture.”

“Of course,” Victor acquiesces, smiling and throwing up a peace sign, and Yuuri smiles. Victor smiles more. They smile at each other, stretching the moment for as long as they can, and then Yuuri is shaking his head, scrambling off the bench.

“I need to—”

“Yeah, I should also—”

They let their sentences hang there, and they don’t say goodbye.

“I’ll text you,” Yuuri says suddenly, face lighting up fiercely with the ensuing blush, and Victor feels like all the air in his body escapes him.

“I look forward to it.” He would feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so thoroughly enamored at this point.

Yuuri stares at him for a few seconds longer, and then seems to remember he’s still hoarding Victor’s phone.

“Oh, sorry, here—”

Victor laughs, taking it back. It’s still open to Yuuri’s contact, and he goes to attach one of the pictures he took. Which one, though? Maybe the first one, before Yuuri had noticed. The expression on his face is beautiful in a quiet, secret sort of way that makes something fond curl around Victor’s heart.

“Yuuri, I just want you to know that singing with you tonight, talking to you, it’s…” Victor looks up, and… Yuuri is gone. His smile falls off his face as he spins around, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. His shoulders drop, and he sighs. “It’s the most fun I’ve had this entire vacation,” he finishes lamely, and then gives a little laugh.

It’s okay.

Yuuri said he would text him tomorrow.

*

“Looks like _someone_ had fun tonight,” Mari teases as they navigate their way back to their rooms. As if to emphasize their point, she reaches over and ruffles Yuuri’s hair, shedding glitter all over the hallway.

“I still can’t believe you humiliated me that way,” he grouses, even as he’s smiling, and she gives him a gentle shove.

“I didn’t humiliate you. You were great up there.”

Yuuri scoffs.

“Come on,” she wheedles. “You disappeared for two hours with that boy—you can’t say you didn’t have _any_ fun.”

“Mari!” Yuuri splutters, turning red. “That—nothing happened. Victor and I just talked.” And Yuuri kissed him on the cheek, or dreamed that he did. His flush deepens.

“Victor, huh?” She smirks at him.

“Shut up, it’s not—” He blinks, feeling an ache in his chest, and frowns. “It’s not like that, okay?” He sighs. “Not that it matters. I leave for Minnesota in a few days. I’ll never see him again.”

His mind is drawn to the phone in his back pocket, heavy with the knowledge of Victor’s contact information. He’d said he’d text him, but… Should he? Is that fair to either of them? They’re both in high school. It’s not like they could have some sort of… Long distance relationship. Victor probably doesn’t even want that.

Even if he did, he’d want it with the Yuuri that had been there tonight, and that person… That’s not who Yuuri is. Not usually.

Mari is studying him, and she’s careful when she asks, “You _did_ have fun though, right?”

And Yuuri thinks about it. About Victor, and everything they’d talked about, and how much he had laughed. About the _singing_. And he can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Yeah.” He looks at his hand, the one Victor had been holding all night, and the hotel lights catch on the glitter and make it sparkle. “I did.”

Tonight, he’ll close his eyes and commit the entire thing to memory. He might never see Victor again, but Yuuri certainly won’t let himself forget about him or the night they had together.

Not even a second.

"Hey Mari?" Yuuri says a moment later, something occurring to him, and she turns to look at him. He frowns. "Do you have my textbook?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _snezhinka moya_ \- my snowflake??? (idk Russian, will change it if it's SUPER INCORRECT)
> 
> (gonna try this thing where I do my long author's notes at the END of a fic instead of the beginning)
> 
> so. this is a thing I am doing. I am still writing Paper Cranes! I just got... horrendously stuck on the next chapter (which is nearly 6k, so I'm not letting it die). I have a horrible attention span, so I decided I'll just. do two fics. at the same time. that could work out, right?
> 
> that being said, ho boy. this is going to be... something. I forgot how much _fun_ it is to write people singing in fic. hopefully it came across okay? I tried to do the different parts in different colors but AO3 is not cooperating with that so we'll just... have to deal. I might make a custom stylesheet for this fic down the line, because the more characters we layer in, the more confusing the singing will no doubt get. ;A; although, I'll probably refrain from doing entire songs, or cut out pieces where I can, and I am just now remembering that a lot of the songs? are like dream sequences? HOW WILL WE DO THOSE WHO KNOWS IT'LL BE AN ADVENTURE.
> 
> if you are fan of HSM, you've probably already noticed that there are a few differences. that'll continue to be the trend. you'll notice that certain characters are filling roles that maybe seem like they should go to other characters, but just. trust me? I'm tweaking things to fit these characters and how they would behave. c: also, aside from Victor and Yuuri as Troy and Gabriella, uh... don't expect any of the HSM romances to translate through to this, okay? ^^;
> 
> okie dokie, buckle up and... have fun! <3  
>   
> [come say hi on tumblr, too uwu <3](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com)


	2. things change when you don't expect them to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s snowing when Yuuri wakes up on the morning of his first day at his new school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pretty sure _do not disturb_ doesn't work this way, but let's just suspend our disbelief, shall we?)

Yuuri doesn’t text Victor the next day, or the day after that.

It’s not a big _deal_. Things happen, after all, and Yuuri never said _when_ he’d text, just that he would. After all, it’s still winter break, and maybe Yuuri is just… Busy. Reading chemistry textbooks. And charming the hearts out of unsuspecting boys.

Maybe Victor should just text him first.

“Told you guys he’d be here!”

Victor is thrown unceremoniously from his reverie by several shouts, and looks up to see most of his team walking into the rink’s locker room.

“His mom told us he would be here, JJ,” Takeshi says as Chris flops down on the bench beside him, arm coming around his shoulder.

“Our fearless leader, practicing even during break.” Chris rests his head on Victor’s shoulder. “So busy being the best that he couldn’t respond to any of our texts about celebrating his belated birthday.”

The smile slips off Victor’s face, and he turns to look at Chris with his eyebrows pinched together.

“You texted me?” That can’t be right. His phone has been practically glued to his hand since he left California. Not that Victor would have entertained the idea of going out for his birthday when he has so much practice to catch up on, but he doesn’t usually ignore texts. Especially Chris’s. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns at it.

“Don’t play dumb,” Chris hums, plucking the phone from his fingers, and then letting out a short laugh. “Or do. Victor, your phone is on _do not disturb_.”

“It’s _what?!_ ” Victor grabs his phone back, fingers fumbling to enter his passcode. How had he not noticed that? Oh god, what if Yuuri had texted him _days_ ago and Victor hadn’t responded because he hadn’t _seen_ it?

“As much as I’d like to flatter myself that this is about me, you seem a bit more desperate than that,” Chris wheedles, although Victor is hardly paying attention at this point. His phone starts to vibrate continuously in his hand as text after text comes through.

From Chris, from Takeshi, from Mickey, _hell_ , there’s even one or two from Otabek. Text after text after text and… None from Yuuri.

Victor’s shoulders drop.

“What does it mean when a guy says he’ll text you and then doesn’t?” Victor asks morosely, flicking through his text threads and wishing he saw Yuuri’s beautiful face.

His friends are all silent for a few moments, and then JJ loudly and obnoxiously _guffaws_.

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Did you guys just hear that? Tell me you guys just heard that.”

“Victor being interested in something that isn’t _ice?_ Is the world ending?”

“He has feelings!”

“You guys are all _assholes_ ,” Victor gripes, glaring at them, and Chris pats his shoulder consolingly.

“And you, my dear friend, are _lovesick_.” He mimes wiping a tear from his eye. “I never thought I’d see the day. They grow up so fast.” He pulls out his phone. “Hold on, I want to document every second of this. Smile for snapchat.”

Victor sighs forlornly.

Takeshi sits on his other side, eyebrows high on his forehead. “So what exactly happened in California? Aside from you practicing every day and rubbing it in our faces all over Instagram. Gotta show us up even over vacation, huh?” He grins, knocking his shoulder a bit roughly against Victor’s.

“Well, he’s Yakov’s perfect team captain for a reason,” JJ points out, albeit it sounds as terse and forced as ever. Victor and JJ have never been friends, per se, but Victor’s assignment as team captain at the beginning of the year had been a further point of contention. Victor’s just grateful that whatever rivalry JJ has cooked up between the two of them hasn’t done any detriment to the team—at the end of the day, victory is what’s most important to all of them. JJ just wants the credit for leading them there.

He looks at his team, his friends, all staring at him expectantly, and he knows who they see. Victor Nikiforov, star center for the East High hockey team, pride of the Wildcats, their friend and their captain.

He doesn’t know how to tell them about _Victor_ , who got up on a stage and sang a duet with a boy and fell a little bit in love with a life he didn’t know he could have.

And how does he explain Yuuri without explaining all of _that_?

He smiles, one of his best showmanship smiles, and says, “Well, there was a New Year’s Eve party at the hotel…”

Victor’s always been good at telling stories that are only half true. It shouldn’t be hard to tell them about Yuuri without mentioning the singing.

(Even if it does feel wrong.)

“Tell us everything,” Chris demands vehemently. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Victor leaves a lot of things out.

*

Yuuri has lived in a lot of places over the course of his life. It comes with the territory of having parents who basically cater to the tourism market. He knows that, at 17, he has seen more of the world than most of his peers. He’s experienced more cities, more peoples, more cultures, and more climates.

Therefore he thinks he can comfortably say that, out of all of them, he hates Minnesota the most.

It’s snowing when he wakes up on the morning of his first day at his new school. _Snowing_. Not that there hadn’t been snow everywhere when they’d arrived, or that it hasn’t snowed since, but it’s different when the only thing he’s expected to do is stay in the house and unpack.

He has to go outside today.

He has to go to school.

But Yuuri is certain that, any second, East High will call and let him and his family know that school has effectively been canceled and will they all please stay at home for their safety?

He tells his mom as much when he comes downstairs for breakfast, and she tuts over the fact that he hasn’t gotten dressed yet.

“If they closed the schools here every time it snowed, they wouldn’t be open most of the winter,” she tells him in her warm voice. Does it really snow _that_ much? Why did they _move_ here? His eyes flit to the window in distress, but her hand on his arm quickly draws his attention back. “I know you are nervous,” she continues gently. “But get dressed.” She gives his arm a firm pat. “It’s cold out there.”

Yuuri can’t help but smile a little exasperatedly at her for that. As if she needs to tell him. Every time he looks out a window, everything he sees is frozen and white.

The clothes, at least, are some consolation.

Yuuri has always preferred layers. He feels safer, somehow, bundled up in all that fabric, and it makes getting through the school day just _that_ much easier. Almost as if the more clothing he wears, the less people are actually able to see him.

It’s something that had been incredibly out of place in LA—and horrendously uncomfortable. But here, no one will question it or look at him strangely. Everyone will be dressed heavily considering there’s _practically_ a blizzard outside. In fact, he would stand out more if he wore anything _less_ than six layers.

As he zips jackets over sweaters pulled over long-sleeved thermals, Yuuri feels like he’s donning armor. It’s comforting.

They haven’t been in Minnesota a week, and so most of their belongings—his parents’ cars, included—are still en route from California. In LA, Yuuri had driven to school using Mari’s car, and in Seattle, he had taken the bus. But their new house isn’t on any of the bus routes for his new school, and while Yuuri has no problem driving himself, there’s simply nothing _for_ him to drive.

He tries to convince his mom to let him call an Uber.

His mom calls a car service, instead.

And once they’re on their way, Yuuri is sure his mom would have called a car service even if there had been a car at their disposal. After all, none of the Katsukis know how to drive in this kind of weather.

His anxiety ramps up a notch with every minute that passes, the car ride silent aside from the low hum of the radio that hardly reaches his ears. It’s a twisting buzz in his gut at the same time that it’s a battering ram against his sternum, a constant flood of _I’m going to be late, the car is going to spin out, I’m going to die, they’re going to hate me, I won’t fit in, they’ll all laugh at me_ that has him twisting his hands in his jacket and breathing erratic circles of steam against the car window.

He can feel his mom’s eyes on him, but she doesn’t push. She reaches out once, takes one of his hands and sandwiches it between her own for a few seconds, but that’s all. She knows about him, about his anxiety, about how he _gets_ —but she’s never really been able to understand it very well.

Yuuri wishes Mari was there. It’s been years since they’ve gone to school together, but at least he would see her in the morning, too busy for more than a ruffling hand through his hair and a teasing, “have a good day at school, little bro.”

It almost has him reaching for his phone, but two things stop him:

  1. Timezones. It’s early in Minneapolis, and even earlier in Los Angeles. As dedicated as Mari is to her work, Yuuri doubts she’d be up before 6am on the west coast.
  2. Victor.



He’d be lying to himself if it wasn’t mostly the second reason, though.

Since New Year’s Eve, Yuuri has hardly touched his phone, keeping it off or in airplane mode almost constantly to avoid… Well, he’s not sure. His own guilt? Inevitable disappointment? Because there is this horrible, awful flame of hope deep in his chest that maybe, _maybe_ , Victor might have texted him. That maybe that night had been as special to him as it had been to Yuuri and he didn’t want to let it go.

…except there’s no reason for him to text Yuuri, because Yuuri had said he would text Victor. And he hadn’t.

And isn’t it better this way? If Victor had texted him, or if Yuuri had texted Victor, Victor would sooner or later realize that he was not the Cinderella that Victor had met at the ball. He was, and was always going to be, a pumpkin.

He presses his forehead to the cool glass of the car window, eyes watching the snow white world pass by him in an almost blur. It reminds him of Victor’s cool toned features, an icy prince with a smile like the sun, and has to close his eyes.

Maybe Victor would like Minnesota. Or maybe he prefers the ice and the cold to be in the controlled regulations of a rink. Yuuri doesn’t know. They’d talked for hours, and Yuuri still wishes it could have been longer. That all of it had been longer. That those seconds leading to midnight had been days, instead.

He doesn’t know where Victor is now, or what he’s doing, but Yuuri hopes that it’s warmer, wherever he is.

*

By the time school starts, his entire team is done hearing about Yuuri.

“Championship game in two weeks!” Takeshi reminds him, whacking him lightly on the back with his hockey stick. “Stop mooning.”

“I’m not mooning,” Victor counters, throwing up a smile as someone in the halls yells his name. He waves and returns their _Happy New Year!_

“Good.” Mickey says from behind him. “Because we need our captain to lead us to victory.”

The further they walk down the halls, the more of a crowd they collect. Chris is clapping his hands onto Victor’s shoulders from behind, confidently saying, “He’s never failed us before.”

It’s Victor’s first year as captain, and they don’t have a single loss under their belt. They’re headed for the first game in the playoffs, which the Wildcats haven’t qualified for in over a decade. Everything is riding on this game. On Victor. _Everything_. It’s a lot of pressure, but his team needs him. They need him to be confident, and present, and focused. They need him to smile through the sandstorm his winter break had kicked up in his chest. They need him to be Victor Nikiforov, the unshakeable champion.

So what if Yuuri had never texted him? So what if Victor’s a little heartbroken over it? What did he really expect to happen? Yuuri lives in _California_. He just needs to stop thinking about it, and focus on hockey, just like he’s always done.

Just him and his team and the ice.

Maybe if he tells himself enough times, it’ll actually work.

“What team?” Chris is calling into the crowd around them, and is met with a raucous, “Wildcats!”

“What team?” JJ asks, even louder, and this time Victor joins in as they all yell, “Wildcats!”

And he’s reminded, as his classmates cheer around him, what it feels like to be on top.

“If you’re going to act like animals, could you not do it in the middle of the fucking hallway? Some people have places to be.” Yuri Plisetsky has come to an abrupt stop right in front of them, arms crossed tightly over his overly-leopard clad body. He’s as beautiful as he is deadly, and if he wasn’t one of the most abrasive people Victor had ever met, he might be a little worried about his spot at the top of the high school food chain.

As it is, people _adore_ Victor.

People _fear_ Yuri.

(It had been rather amusing for his friends when they had learned that the boy who had stolen Victor’s heart was also named Yuuri—in their opinion, it was also extremely unfortunate.

“One of them will need a nickname,” JJ had decided solemnly, and the rest of the team had agreed in quiet murmurs.)

“Are those leopard panels on your jeans, Yurio?” JJ asks through a grin.

“ _What the fuck did you just call me?!_ ”

“Now, now, Yura.” Mila Babicheva, more affectionately known as _Yuri’s handler_ , gives him a slight shove from behind. “It’s only our first day back. Too soon to start things with the entire hockey team.”

“Those assholes started it first!” Yurio spits, and he doesn’t stop yelling even as Mila drags him around a corner like a lioness with a hissing cub between her teeth.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him,” Victor tells JJ, resigned, but JJ just grins and shrugs.

“It’s too fucking easy, man.”

“If you’re all quite done.” Victor turns, and comes face-to-face with the dead-eyed stare of Seung-Gil Lee, president of the chemistry club and captain of East High’s academic decathlon team. He looks about as impressed by Victor and the show of team spirit in front of him as he ever is by anything—which is to say, not at all. “I need to get to the bulletin boards.”

They part easily for him, just as the warning bell for homeroom sounds.

“Come on, Baranovskaya will skin us alive if we’re late.” Takeshi shoves Chris and Victor forward with his hockey stick. “See you guys during free period!” He calls over his shoulder, and they’re met with enthusiastic hollers of agreement.

“Did either of you do the reading over winter break?” Chris asks as they weave their way through the hallways.

“We had _reading?_ ”

Victor laughs, letting the sounds of East High wash over him. It’s good to be back.

*

The halls of East High are… A lot warmer than Yuuri had been anticipating. Like, _a lot_. He’d go as far as to say they are _too_ warm— _uncomfortably_ warm, even. He tugs on the knot of his scarf and seriously starts to reconsider the second long-sleeved thermal he put on this morning. He’s sweating, and his vision is swimming, and for once he can’t tell if it’s due to the heightened levels of his anxiety or from how close to having heat stroke he is.

He glances at his mom, but she doesn’t seem at all bothered by the high temperature. She does, however, keep shooting him concerned glances, eyebrows pinched together with worry, and Yuuri tries to concentrate more on the office attendant going over his new school timetable and less on the heavy weight of his mom’s eyes.

Maybe… Maybe he legitimately has a fever? Maybe he’s _actually_ sick this time? If he’s really, truly sick, maybe his mom will take him home. His eyes widen slowly at the realization.

“And that’s that,” says the office attendant. Yuuri’s brain feels like it’s melting and he belatedly realizes that he didn’t absorb a single word she said over the last twenty minutes. “I’ll just go snag the principal and he’ll show you around, Mr. Katsuki,” she says kindly around a far-too-large smile. Yuuri doesn’t remember her name. _Oh god_ , he doesn’t remember her name—will he be expected to know it? will the principal talk about her? is there a quiz on this later?

His breathing gets a little shorter and the tiles beneath his feet swim together until they form one hazy, conjoined blob beneath his shoes.

“Mom—” He starts, swallowing heavily when his stomach rolls. He’s definitely sick. She definitely needs to take him home.

“You’ll be fine, Yuuri,” she assures gently, turning towards him. The warmth in her eyes turns considering, and then she’s perching up onto the balls of her feet to unwind his scarf. The relief, for as minimal as it is, is immediate. “You are wearing too many layers,” she chides, the look on her face saying she expected as much.

He would say that it snowed all morning and he was being cautious, but he’s still too sticky hot and anxious to form a proper rebuttal. Any second, the principal will be here, and his mom will leave, and then there won’t be any escape at all. He grapples at any straws he has left.

“But Mom, my stomach—”

“Always gets upset on the first day of school,” she reminds him, carefully folding up his scarf and tucking it beneath her arm. “I put some ginger soda in with your bento. It will help.” This time, when she reaches up, she pats his cheek affectionately.

As much as his mom has been dedicated to her career, she’s been just as dedicated to their family. She would know, before her hand even made contact with skin, if Yuuri truly had a fever. But whatever inferno he’s currently suffering in doesn’t translate through his skin, so she says nothing.

Before Yuuri can try again, the office attendant is leading a friendly looking Japanese man out towards them, and his mom’s face lights up in expectation.

He sees the train wreck of a situation before his mom even tips forward in a bow, struggling to find his voice as his mom continues to greet his new principal in rapid, flowing Japanese that leaves both him and the office attendant completely speechless. Yuuri wants to beat his head against the counter and then disappear into the floor.

“Ah, I’m sorry for the confusion, Mrs. Katsuki,” the principal says with a kind smile. “I know my name is a little misleading, but I unfortunately don’t speak any Japanese.”

His mom’s eyes widen slightly, eyebrows arching up her forehead, and she gives a small, dismissive laugh behind her hand.

How everybody is not literally dying right in that second, Yuuri isn’t sure. He knows that _he’s_ dying, while simultaneously wishing that he could turn back time and stop it from ever happening in the first place.

“My apologies.” She stops herself short of dipping into another bow, and smiles just as easily as she would at any business partner.

“No, no, happens all the time,” the principal assures, even though Yuuri is pretty sure it _doesn’t_. But then the principal is turning to him with a grin and holding out his hand. “This must be Yuuri. It’s a pleasure to have you here at East High. I’m Principal Nishigori.”

Because his mom is right there, and because Yuuri wasn’t raised in a barn, he fits his sweltering, glove-covered hand into his new principal’s.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says, wishing desperately that he had his scarf to hide in even if it might also be the thing that forces his skin to burst into flames.

“I’ve taken a look at your transcripts, Yuuri.” (Yuuri winces—he can’t help it). “And I think your light is going to shine very brightly here at East High.” Yuuri could care very little about shining brightly. In fact, he wants more than anything to just stay off of people’s radars completely. This is the last high school he’ll attend before he graduates ( _probably_ ), and if he could just blend into the background and get through the next year and a half, he’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

“If you’re ready, I’ll go ahead and show you to your first class.”

And this is it. His mom will leave, and Yuuri will have to somehow survive the day with a two hundred degree fever surrounded by people he doesn’t know. He’s… Going to vomit. He is definitely going to vomit. It’s a very real possibility.

“You’ll do great,” his mom promises, bouncing up on her toes again to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He wants to hug her. He wants to beg for her to please, _please_ take him with her. Who needs high school, anyway? He’s just going to end up running a hotel, and he doesn’t need school for that, right? “Just be yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

He blanches, all of his requests dying in his throat. Just be himself? Does his mom even _know_ him?

But before he can say another word, she reaches over, squeezes his arm affectionately, and… Then she’s gone. She leaves behind promises of seeing him at home, and that the car service will be back for him at 2:30pm, when school lets out. 

Yuuri swallows and watches her go.

“This way, Yuuri,” Principal Nishigori directs a moment later, and Yuuri shuffles his backpack on his shoulder and goes.

_Here lies Yuuri Katsuki_ , he can’t help but think as he climbs the stairs behind the principal. _Beloved son and brother_. Each step is a lesson in endurance as he nearly faints from overheating. _And the new student that nobody cares about._

If life was kind to him, he would die right there.

(He doesn’t.)

*

“Are you seriously going to try and read seven chapters of _The Scarlet Letter_ before Baranovskaya walks through the door?” Chris asks, picking up Takeshi’s hockey stick where it’s leaning against his desk and taking a shot at nothing between the rows.

“Dude, I’m not crazy,” Takeshi retorts, pulling out his phone. “SparkNotes, duh.”

Victor rolls his eyes, eyes latently checking Chris’s form as he lines up another shot to an imaginary puck.

“Your feet are too close together,” Victor points out, resting his chin in his hand. “And your knees aren’t bent enough.”

“We aren’t on the ice, coach,” Chris throws back, grinning over his shoulder.

“Doesn’t mean you should practice bad habits.” Victor frowns, thoughtfully. “Seriously, did any of you guys get ice time over break?” He looks between them, fighting the urge to actually get up and force Chris into a proper stance. Takeshi’s eyebrows are pinched together at he glares down at the small text on his phone, scrolling far too vigorously for him to actually be reading anything.

“Some of us have more _enjoyable_ things to do over winter break, Victor.” Voice laden with innuendo, Chris pulls Takeshi’s hockey stick to rest on his shoulders, hands dangling over the ends.

“Oh?” Victor grins. “What exactly did you _do_ over break, Chris?”

Takeshi scoffs from where he’s still frowning at his phone.

“He didn’t _do_ anything. He had tutoring.”

Victor’s grin widens. “So Matt is finally giving in to your advances?” He leans in, conspiratorially. “Or did he discover that you’re not as stupid as you’ve been acting?”

Chris frowns, and looks about ready to use Victor’s head as a puck, when the bell sounds shrilly behind them.

“Saved by the bell,” Chris threatens, and Victor just continues to smile—someone was saved by the bell, but it _certainly_ wasn’t him. Chris twists around to sit down, and Victor actually winces when he nearly clocks Baranovskaya in the head. Chris jerks back in surprise, going slack as Baranovskaya plucks the hockey stick from where it’s still cradled on his shoulder.

“Treating my classroom as a hockey rink again, Mr. Giacometti?” She asks, staring him down, and her glare seems to propel Chris into his seat, the clatter enough to draw the rest of the class’s attention.

“In case you all didn’t notice, that was the bell,” Baranovskaya states, heading to the front of the class as people scramble around to get in their seats. “Mr. Nishigori.” She pauses next to his desk. “If you did not do the reading, those notes won’t be of any help to you now. Phones away, before I confiscate them.”

Victor grins into the palm of his hand.

“Wipe that grin off your face, Nikiforov,” Takeshi hisses as he pockets his phone, and Victor straightens out his expression, eyes still bright.

“I don’t—” There’s a sudden jerky movement to Victor’s right, and he looks over suddenly, sure that he—

“Can I fucking help you?” Yuri Plisetsky asks where he’s sitting, scowl firmly in place on his face, and Victor frowns thoughtfully, looking over his shoulder. There’s a bulky figure with dark hair obscured almost entirely by a beanie sitting down in the back of the class.

He’s dressed like there’s a blizzard outside, which would be highly amusing, except… 

Victor doesn’t know who it is.

Which is weird, because Victor knows _everyone_.

He sees a flash of blue framed glasses and feels his stomach plummet to the center of the earth.

There’s—it’s not _possible_ , right?

“Victor,” Chris whispers, and Victor’s attention rubber bands back to his best friend. “What’s up?”

Victor’s eyebrows furrow together, but he shakes his head, mouths _nothing_ , and glances at where Baranovskaya is waiting impatiently for the class to settle. Okay, it’s a long shot, but Victor can’t help that little spike of hope, even after over a week of zero contact. It would be the cruelest, most wonderful twists of fate if Yuuri was currently sitting four rows behind him. Which is why it’s completely impossible.

The odds of Yuuri being _here_ , of all places, when they’d met in Los Angeles? A million to one. It’s stupid, it’s silly, it’s _impossible_ , but—

(Victor carefully pulls his phone out of his pocket.)

—there’s only one way to know for sure.

He brings up Yuuri’s contact, hesitating for just a second as he stares down at the picture he took when Yuuri wasn’t looking. His stomach might be gone, but his heart is in his throat, his hands feeling shaky as he hits the _call_ button.

Nothing. Nothing. Victor is so stupid, of course it isn’t—

A phone starts ringing, and Victor’s own nearly slides out of his hand.

The ring tone. That _song_. Victor _knows_ that song.

Baranovskaya does a slow pivot at the front of the class, the kind that should be accompanied by ominous music, and asks, “What did I _just_ say?” She carefully sets down the dry erase marker on her desk with deceptive gentleness before she begins to stalk through the rows, searching for the perpetrator.

Victor looks around, watching several brave students pull out their phones to see if it’s theirs—like maybe they can silence the evidence before they’re discovered.

But Victor knows it isn’t any of them. Knows that no one else would have this song as their ringtone, even to play some kind of sick joke on him, because that would have required Victor to have _talked_ about what happened. _Everything_ that happened.

And he hasn’t.

He hasn’t told anyone about the karaoke, about the singing.

And yet here he is, at his tiny high school in Minnesota, listening to the familiar notes of “Start of Something New.”

“Mr. Plisetsky, Ms. Babicheva, cell phones,” Baranovskaya demands, holding out the black box of cell phone doom and glaring at them silently as they drop them inside without a word of complaint. Victor watches her as she makes her way all the way to the back, to the boy he doesn’t know who is struggling to pull a cell phone from within the confines of his heavy jacket—Victor sees the moment he shuts it off, the moment the song _stops_ , sees his face pale as Baranovskaya demands his cell phone.

And he’s certain.

It’s Yuuri.

Somehow, by some miracle, it’s _Yuuri_.

And in his awe, in his complete befuddlement, in the middle of thanking any and every god Victor can think to name, Baranovskaya appears with her cell phone coffin and stares him down until his own phone joins the collateral.

“Winter break is over, and it is my _absolute_ pleasure to remind all of you that you’ll need to join me in detention after school to get your cell phones back.” She hardly looks delighted by the prospect at all.

“That’s—” Chris starts, darting a look at Victor as if to say _what the fuck were you thinking pulling out your phone in Baranovskaya’s class?_. “That’s not possible, Mrs. Baranovskaya. We have practice after school, our first full practice as a team, and Victor _has_ to be there—”

“And that’ll be fifteen minutes of detention for you as well, Mr. Giacometti.” Her cool gaze slides from his shocked expression to the rest of the class, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well? Anybody else? We’re always looking for people to help paint sets for the drama department.”

The class is eerily silent at that point, not that Victor is paying all that much attention. After all, his phone has already been taken. His time in detention has been sentenced. The damage that Baranovskaya can wreck against him is done.

Now all he has to focus on is _Yuuri_ , and the way it feels like the muscles in his neck might snap with how hard he’s fighting the urge to turn and _stare_.

(The last time he looked away, Yuuri disappeared.)

When the appropriate amount of fearful silence has passed, Baranovskaya returns the box to the drawer in her desk and immediately goes back into English Teacher mode.

“Now, if you recall, the last time we were here, Chillingworth had just discovered—ah, yes, Mr. Summers?”

Victor is so amazingly thankful for Justin and his stupid questions right in that moment. Because Justin sits exactly four seats behind him, and Yuuri is directly to his right. So when the entire class turns to stare, Victor jumps at the excuse.

He doesn’t expect to find Yuuri staring back at him.

Before Victor can so much as coax a smile through the shock still reverberating through his entire body, Yuuri looks away, down at his desk, and no matter how much Victor mentally pleads for him to lift his eyes, he doesn’t.

“How was your winter break, Mrs. Baranovskaya?”

*

Yuuri was wrong. Yuuri was _so wrong_. If he thought he was going to vomit before, that feeling was as gentle and soothing as his mother’s caress compared to the sudden tumultuous storm currently churning inside his body.

He has to—he has to get out of here. How long would it take him to get to California if he started running _now_? Actually, wait, no, scratch that. Running is impractical. He’s not in awful shape, but he’s certainly in no condition to run the 1900 miles (approximately) from East High to Katsuki Hollywood.

Hitch-hiking, maybe?

That isn’t exactly the safest option but—whatever, he’ll figure out the details _later_. Once he gets out of the classroom. And finds a bathroom stall to safely hyperventilate in. Just as soon as he’s sure that… That _Victor_ isn’t waiting for him outside the classroom.

Because Victor is _here_.

In Minnesota.

In Minneapolis.

At East High.

Somewhere, someone is aware of Yuuri’s current situation and is _laughing_ at him.

Okay, he needs to—he needs to calm down. And breathe. And maybe take off his jacket because his blood feels like it’s boiling. Is he dizzy because he isn’t breathing properly?

He just has to think about this _rationally_ , because _rationally_ , why would Victor _ever_ wait in the hallway for him? He doesn’t have any reason to. Not _really_. New Year’s Eve was… Was a moment out of time. It didn’t—it _doesn’t_ mean anything. So they sang together? So they spent hours talking? So Yuuri kissed him on the cheek? So it was arguably one of the best nights of Yuuri’s short, short life? So _what_?

It happened.

It’s over.

It’s gone.

And it probably never meant much to Victor, anyway. Victor probably never even _thinks_ about it.

Why would he? Why would anyone think about Yuuri?

“Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri’s head snaps up from where he’s been staring at the grain on his desk. The classroom is empty save for him and his new, terrifying English teacher.

He’s already read _The Scarlet Letter_.

He has no intention of ever telling her that.

“Class is over. I know you’re new here, but I suggest you head for your next one.”

_Right_. Class. School. Life.

He can’t run away. He certainly can’t go back to California. Mari would take him in, he _knows_ she would, but he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t do that to his parents.

Yuuri breathes, grabs his backpack, and has to steady himself against his desk when he’s hit with an overwhelming swell of dizziness and nearly faceplants into the classroom door. _Great_. He avoids Mrs. Baranovskaya’s eyes as he slinks towards the door, even though he can feel her watching him. Probably to make sure he doesn’t trip and accidentally lobotomize himself on a pencil or something equally as horrible and embarrassing.

Or she’s making sure he isn’t truant. Next period probably starts soon, after all. The anxiety of being late, of walking into the class with dozens of faces watching him, is on him instantly, and he rescinds himself to it; he doesn’t even know where he’s _going_.

But at least the hallway is nearly empty once he reaches it, and he can enjoy a momentary wash of relief at not being ambushed.

Because Victor hadn’t waited after all.

Of course he hadn’t. Yuuri had known he wouldn’t.

...so why does he feel so heartbreakingly disappointed?

“Yuuri!”

There’s a sudden tug at his elbow that has him making a sound that has probably never been heard in the natural world, and then Victor is _there_.

Not a picture on his phone. Not a shocked stare across a classroom.

_Right there_. Holding his elbow.

Oh god, is he breathing? He’s not sure if he’s breathing. He’s not sure he remembers _how_ to breathe.

“I can’t believe this!”

What if… What if Victor is _mad_ at him? Clearly he didn’t completely forget New Year’s Eve, and therefore Yuuri by association. But Yuuri had said he would text Victor. 

He hadn’t.

Yuuri knows that.

Victor knows that.

Oh god, what if he _hates_ him?

“How is this possible?”

Or—or worse. Victor _doesn’t_ hate him.

“You know what, nevermind, it doesn’t matter, I just—I can’t believe you’re actually _here_.”

Victor still thinks he’s that _other_ Yuuri. The one who stands up and sings in front of crowds and shamelessly kisses a boy he’s only known for a few hours.

Okay, it was _on the cheek_ , but it’s still one of the boldest things Yuuri’s ever done.

And Yuuri can’t help but wish that Victor _didn’t_ remember. That Victor actually hated him after all. Because now he’ll have to live through Victor realizing that the Yuuri from that night and the Yuuri in front of him aren’t even remotely similar.

What will it be like, he wonders, to watch that bright light in Victor’s eyes fade into disinterest?

“Yuuri?”

His vision blurs, Victor’s face distorted as if Yuuri is looking at him through six feet of water, and Yuuri wonders for a second if he’s starting to cry.

Victor’s hand is heavy and hot on his shoulder. _Everything_ is hot. Everything has been too hot and uncomfortable and stifling since he stepped foot in East High.

“Yuuri, are you okay?”

_I might be dying_ , he doesn’t say, and then promptly passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, hi, so:
> 
> \+ sorry it's been so long! I really am. I am but a simple girl who bites off more than she can chew apparently lol.
> 
> \+ I had originally planned for this fic to have one song per chapter, but as you can see, this chapter is song-less. this chapter was also supposed to be the entire first day of school, but I still have? so many scenes to write? and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting _another_ two months. so it might not be the 12k chapter I envisioned, but hopefully 6.1k still works for ya.
> 
> \+ was originally looking at this fic as 10 chapters, but it'll probably be 12-14 now. x:
> 
> \+ you'll notice things are starting to diverge a bit from the plot of the movie here. that's gonna. keep happening. essentially every character you know from HSM is being played by 2-5 characters here.
> 
> \+ what tEAM?!
> 
>  
> 
> [come follow me on tumblr because I'm lonely lol](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com)


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